Josephine Rising
by Redjackpirate
Summary: I shall live by passion and not by law...Even Gods of War can fall by the hands of mere mortals...*in a British pirate accent*THIS 'TIS THA GREATEST STORY EVA TO'D...well, sort of. READ/REVIEW! Joker/OC
1. Perfectly Flawed

**Disclaimer: I'm poor, so don't sue-you really won't get much. Yeah-I don't own Batman/Dark Knight/or any characters involved...I may own some souls and a purse shaped like a dice-but like I said-I'm poor so don't sue.**

**Hey, I'm Jack.**

**This is my first attempt at putting my fanfiction out there.**

**Please read my story, I'd appreciate it immensly.**

**It starts slow-and may or may not seem like your thing-but please give it a chance.**

**This is the first chapter. The rating may go up in later chapters.**

**I would like to know if I should even bother to continue writing this-so please review to let me know.**

**Thanks.**

**-JAc**

... my confession

Because I'm diluted and perfectly flawed

I shall live by passion and not by law

And I'm insecure…I need aggression

To feed the spiders of perception

And I'm supposed to be strong and have all the answers

A cannibal in the new church of cancer

But I'm nothing special, I'm not unique

I have many secrets and I EAT the weak

And I'm at an end…at an end...

and there's ...

NO WAY OUT!!

I need to find my sanctuary….someplace safe…

Gotta get this outta me….this is my escape

And I think about it all the time

I'm volatile and afraid to cry

But I'm still not comfortable in my skin

And the anesthetics slowly wearing thin

And I need to talk to someone new

I need a different latitude

And I'm in this void…all alone!

Feeling needy…hungry to grow

But I'm suffocating—can't come down

…And there's NO WAY OUT!

--All I see is sadness…All I see is sadness…What's left?

--This will teach them…THIS will teach them.

...you've got to...  
push.  
Push.  
PUSH...  
YOUR WAY OUT!!

FOLLOW ME!  
FOLLOW ME!  
THIS IS YOUR WAY OUT!!

You are not alone!  
- this is where I hide my power  
- this is where I become free  
- this is where I take control  
- and slowly choke your fantasies

- I want to know my day is coming  
- see my enemies be punished  
- shed my skin again  
- this will be my best revenge!!

SHED MY SKIN AGAIN  
THIS WILL BE MY BEST REVENGE!

-Otep

* * *

It was cool out, not yet freezing like it would be in mid winter, but the chill in the air was enough for him to feel the bite through his clothes. He didn't care. How could he? His heart was too frigid and iced over for the weather to have any significant affect on him. Besides, he was sure his sensory perception was skewed anyway.

Skewed or not, at this particular moment, he was too annoyed to think about the weather. His annoyance derived from the discomfort he was experiencing at the moment. He felt naked, _normal_ even. And _normal_ was something he detested immensely. The problem wasn't that he didn't know what was bothering him; he knew what had prompted these distressing feelings. The problem was that he wasn't dressed in his usual attire. He didn't even have his face, his make-up, on, no, not tonight. Tonight, he was dressed to fit in, which was really not all that impossible or even that difficult for that matter. He had managed to blend with the public, despite the deeply embedded scars that marred his face. Tonight, he wasn't bothered by his scars though. Tonight, he wouldn't be bothered by anything; not his clothes, not his scars, and certainly not by something as mundane as the weather.

Tonight was a special night, a night he had looked forward to, not overwhelmingly, but enough to where he had put effort into himself. The fact that he was actually looking forward to something not involving the usual uproar of disorder and chaos was a triumph in itself. Tonight was a magnificent night. . . A night that he was disappointed was coming to a close.

It wasn't a particularly special event that he partook in by means of attendance or even participation. It was not like a mass extermination of the abominations society called 'humans', or like blowing a building to shreds to instill fear and panic into the publics' hearts and homes, or even like a reunion with his batty friend, but it was still an important enough an event for him to prepare for none-the-less.

On this night, the Joker groomed with care and finesse. He made sure to clean his face with caution, leaving not the slightest blemish of make-up residue behind. He slicked his green-tinged hair back and actually took the time to run a comb through it for once. He had removed his beloved purple suit and momentarily traded it in for a more basic design: a simple black suit with a light blue dress-shirt beneath. He did all this in preparation for one thing. . . Tonight he was going to the circus.

Ever since he saw the flyer advertising that a nationally–known circus troupe would be coming to Gotham, the city of filth and despair, he had prepared to go for some time now, and, looking back over the past three hours, it had been everything he had expected; it had made all the preparation worth it. It was only on a rare occasion that actual emotions occurred within him, but tonight, the Joker was genuinely happy. When he first arrived, he stood in line with a euphoric air about him as he patiently waited to pay for his ticket from the small booth that sat outside the main tent. Usually, he would just sneak into an establishment if it required paying, not because he was cheap, but rather because he wanted to avoid the use of any sort of currency at all cost. If he did use money, it would mean, among other things, that he was in support of something as foolish as monetary distribution. This was different though; this was no ordinary event, and even if he detested the entire currency system, he knew that it was what the circus required to continue its routine and that it would be rude to avoid compensation. The Joker was many things, but rude was not one of them, so tonight he paid. He felt that if he was ever going to spend money anywhere, that this would be the best place to do it, even if it did generate a less reputable image of the circus. Oh well, even the seemingly perfect are flawed.

He walked into the main tent and sat down in the nearly empty bleachers. He was one of the first to arrive. Soon though, people of all ages and ethnicities began pouring in, effectively drowning out the relaxing silence with sickeningly cheerful noise. The Joker went on unnoticed, waiting for the events to begin. No one pointed or screamed at him, or called him names like 'freak', or accused him of being crazy. On this night, he was just another face in the crowd, rather disfigured face, but a face regardless. Children, mothers, entire families sat right next to him, unafraid, and, although he'd never admit, it sort-of made him at ease, to be part of something…smaller. It would have been a humbling experience for anyone else, but for him, it was just another form of entertainment. The lights went down and the main stage lit up illuminating the faces of spectators in the first three rows.

A small child turned and smiled at him. He ignored it, but was soon put in the best of moods as different performances took place on the stage. He laughed, not a sinister cackle, but a genuine laugh at the entertaining wonder that was taking place before him. He adored each act, from the thirteen clowns that packed themselves into the old-fashioned Volkswagen, to the high-wire act, from the jugglers and acrobats to the trapeze artist. He was completely satisfied without the usual carnage…Even if he did dream of the Volkswagen catching on fire and exploding-casting body parts into the air, imagine the tight rope walker losing his balance and falling to his death-his head bursting and spraying blood on the floor, and wish for one of the jugglers to drop his chainsaws and hack something off one of the acrobats-preferably a limb.

Although all of the acts and the pleasantly sinister little scenarios that racked his mind were overwhelmingly satisfying, none of it was what he really came to the circus for. What he loved most about the circus was something entirely different. For the Joker, the most gratifying thing about the circus was that these were _his _people. Even though they'd never met before and they would never come face-to-horrifying-face with each other, these people were like him. They were outcasts, runaways, unwanted, ugly . . . _freaks_. But there . . ._ There_, they were shining stars. They were artists. They were respected. They were gods . . . _They . . .w_ere _him_.

Thinking back on the evening, he was glad that he went. The night had truly been spectacular, wonderful. He was a bit disappointed that it was already over and he would have to wait an entire year to see it again.

Suddenly, he was taken out of his thoughts when he heard a car pull up behind him, slowly crunching the scattered gravel on the asphalt beneath its sturdy tires. He had no idea of how long he had been walking. The circus was on the outskirts of town and the trip back 'home', as if resembled anything remotely close to a home, would take at least an hour and a half on foot, maybe two.

"Hey," a feminine voice called out to him. He glanced over his shoulder then finally turned his heel after seeing that the driver of the beat up Camry was indeed calling out to him.

"You wanna ride?" The voice was harsh. It belonged to a woman, as he had suspected, but that didn't seem to take away from its rough brutality.

Without really thinking, he walked up to the car, opened the door, and creepily shrank down into the passenger's seat. He took only a second to glance over at the driver before resting his head on his right hand and looking out the open car window. He didn't speak and neither did she. She just drove. He didn't think much about the situation, regardless of his lack of weaponry at the moment.

One thing about the black suit was that it lacked pockets and compartment space, which meant that he didn't have all of his usual accessories. He only had two knives on him at the moment and, technically, one wasn't even really a knife, but rather a potato peeler. He mostly carried it to intimidate, he rarely used it to flay anyone's precious hide. The other knife was his simplistic favorite, he carried that one merely because he never went anywhere without it. Either weapon would do if he honestly thought he was on danger or if he just needed a quick fix; something to uplift his mood if it ever got down. He didn't honestly think he'd have to use them on her, but, still, he never knew.

The woman wasn't driving a total of five minutes before a siren rang out followed by red and blue lights that could be seen in her rear view. She calmly pulled over to the curb and waited for the cop to pull off too. Within moments of waiting, a police officer lazily drawled up to the car.

"Know why I pulled you over ma'am?" he asked her.

"Uh. . . because you saw me driving," she was quick-witted and quickly, methodically came up with the rest of her response, ". . .and your raging hormones just wouldn't allow you to resist the ultra-sexual female proxy that just oozes from my aura?" she joked, sarcasm dripping from her words.

She smiled. The Joker giggled inwardly, trying to keep his identity concealed. The cop just scowled. He cleared his throat before speaking again.

"Have you recently been in a car accident ma'am?" The officer asked impatiently.

"No, not _too_ recently," she responded immediately.

"Well, you have a dented front end, a broken head light, and the entire front fender is cracked and looks like it's about to fall off." He spoke to her as if she was completely unaware of the damage that had been done to her car. Even the Joker thought that the way the copper was talking down to her was extremely condescending. "Now the real problem is that headlight. That's why I pulled you over. You need to get that fixed immediately…" He pulled out his pad and began to fill out her ticket. "Let's make this easy, okay…can I have your license and registration, please."

The woman didn't know what to do. . .she had it written in her movements. The cop didn't notice, but the Joker did. The whole time, he had been staring out his window he was actually listening, smirking at the woman's sarcasm, but now he turned toward her as she momentarily froze. She reached over him and popped open her glove box, pretending to search for something they both knew she wasn't going to find.

After a few moments of false and irreverent searching, she turned her attention back to the officer. Feigning innocence she spoke to the cop.

"I'm sorry, officer…it seems that I've misplaced it somewhere."

The cop looked up from the ticket he had been concentrating on writing. He had a stern look on his face.

"Ouch, the expression on your face tells me you're not too happy about my bad habit of misplacing things," she spoke like a child to a dog, sufficiently degrading both herself _and_ the officer in the process. The officer was not enjoying her sarcasm or the fact that she had no license _or_ registration on her. He was about to let her know just how displeased he was.

"Ma'am, could you please step out of the car," he spoke with a stereotypical, macho-cop voice now, as if he were letting her know that he knew procedure and he knew how to follow it.

She undid her seatbelt and the cop backed away from the door. She opened it and got out. As an afterthought, she turned around and leaned into the car window, speaking to her newly acquired passenger. He turned toward her, acknowledging her presence.

"You might want to get out of the car and start walking. . . On second thought. . . Stay here. . .Or go. . .Really, I don't care," she spoke with a lackluster tone that only confirmed what she had said.

At that point, the woman exited the car, closed the door, and disappeared into the darkness with the cop following closely behind. The Joker adjusted the side mirror on his side of the car to get a better glimpse of what was going on. He wasn't particularly interested in the woman, or the situation for that matter, but was simply curious. His curiosity usually got the better of him, but not all the time. This, unfortunately, was one of those times. He turned an observant eye on the figures coming into play in his mirror. The red tail lights of the car casted an eerie glow in the otherwise matte black night. Not a single star shone through the thick smog that seemed to consume the city. Some nights were clearer, perfectly clear, as if the toxic fumes had burned through the atmosphere and had the opposite effect of the smog. Tonight, however, the dampness in the air mixed with the industrial waste and fumes and blanketed the city in a thick, gray sheet, effectively blocking out the sky.

The figures came more into focus as they walked directly between the two cars, allowing the red beams to penetrate the air and illuminate the scene. It was almost like a horror movie unfolding, except for the fact that the Joker never truly got horrified by anything.

From what he could make out, the cop and the woman were talking. The conversation was obviously getting tenser because their facial expressions became cold and hard and their body language became defensive, hostile almost. As their intangible voices began erupting with renewed vibrancy, harsh sounds began to emanate from somewhere behind the car. The Joker continued to stare into his side mirror at the verbal exchange that was taking place between the two mortal souls that he had just met. He heard the cop yell something at the woman, something that was indistinguishable over the hum of the car's engine, but still recognizably a threat based on the warning and anger in the cop's tone. Then the woman slowly put her hands behind her head and got down on her knees with her back to the cop and facing the back-end of her pathetic Camry.

'_Great, there goes my ride,'_ the Joker thought automatically, uncaring about anyone who was not himself.

He continued to watch the episode unfold behind him, contemplating the thought of getting out and slaughtering them both for sport then stealing one of the cars. He quickly set that thought aside, deciding that he would much rather watch the two of them squirm while he comfortably sat, rather than put forth any effort on his part. The cop had reached to his side and pulled out a pair of cuffs. Just as he was about to clasp the silver bracelets on the woman and effectively restrain her, she twisted her body forward and snapped her left leg behind her, kicking the officer squarely in the knee cap. The Joker knew that it wasn't a professional fighting move; it was probably just something that she had learned from growing up in the city. Although the move definitely wasn't masterful, it would work sufficiently enough to startle the cop momentarily and give her enough time…_but time for what?_ She couldn't escape in such a small time frame, or even have time to fully stand up. With that thought, the cop started to reach for his gun. However, as the copper was drawing, as was the woman, and she just happened to be faster on the drawl. Having found what she knew was there all along, the woman recoiled her hand from her pocket, revealing a small knife. The woman retracted the blade and in one swift movement, she dragged it along the officer's neck.

A look of pure shock and paralyzing horror splayed across the man's face as realization hit him and the crimson flood began to poor from his neck. The red color spilling was enhanced by the Camry's ever-present tail lights. The woman started walking back towards the car, leaving the man to die alone and miserable.

The officer went limp by the time she reached the driver's side door.

* * *

**JAc: Yeah, so there it is...I would really appreciate reviews. I really listen and want to know what others are thinking. It starts slow, but give it a chance, please. Thanks again.**


	2. God Made Me a Cannibal

**Well, I wrote this.**

**I know that it's a bit slow, but with all good stories...**

**you really can't rush.**

**This chapter gives a little bit more interaction-actually, a lot more.**

**So, although its slow, please be patient, I think you'll find that it is going to get much, much better.**

**Disclaimer: **

**Batman**

**Joker, **

**Gotham**

**I own none of it.**

**...**

**and it makes me cry, everyday. :(**

**(jk-well, kinda)**

**-JAc**

Dip my tail in blood and  
Write it down in red  
Scribe the words "Happy meal"  
Right across your head

Tired of getting walked on  
Treated like a sheep  
Don't blame me for all the years  
That you were asleep

Relax, God is in control  
Watch the dot  
Take your meds,  
Obey my demands,  
Trust my dog,  
Time for surgery  
Shut your eyes, and you're dead

Televised mass poison  
Spitting at the screen  
Keep the masses deligent  
With fabricated dreams

Powdered God in a bag  
From the Vatican  
I want you to fuck off  
As hard as you can

Heaven has burst open  
Now it's raining bones  
The chaos will erode you  
Breeding little clones

Born of a fallen rib  
From the monkey's womb  
Overcooked by cathode rays  
Evolved to consume

Eating from the butcher's slab  
Becoming what they meet  
Restrained and roasted while they gorge  
Strapped into the seat  


Bathing in your arrogance  
Dining will ensue  
God made me a cannibal  
To fix problems like you

-Angelspit

* * *

The Joker looked on past the windshield as the woman's slender figure once again appeared in his peripheral vision. After watching the scene that had just played out in his rearview his eyes had shifted focus to the road. Those smiling orbs never left the black hard-top, as the driver's side door opened and caused the car to beep frantically in welcome. The woman side-stepped in and the door closed, effectively shushing the ringing 'hellos' of the car. Although his eyes were forward, the Joker's ears were observant. He heard a seat belt click, a soft sigh, followed by a grunt being let out as the woman's body stretched to grab something from the back-seat floor, the sound of her wiping her hands on a towel or cloth (which was the assumed item that was grabbed from the backseat), and the thing being tossed without care to its original resting place.

Although nothing he did was without purpose, it appeared to the woman as though his actions were performed absent-mindedly when he turned his head a fraction in her direction. The action itself had suggested that he had only now noticed her, even thought she swayed his observant senses the second she stepped up to the car. He looked at her; she looked at the dashboard and then glanced down at the gearshift, putting it in drive and roaring off down the road.

The night was black and the city was dead as they passed sleeping buildings, cracked side-walks, and alleyways that were shrouded in such a pure darkness that they looked as if they were hallways into Hell itself. They were driving deeper into the city, reaching the semi-civilization that contained the 'normal' citizens, those that the Joker referred to as 'innocents'. Calling them innocent was really just an insult, a mockery of what he truly considered them. Just like a broken home hiding behind a white picket fence, he mentally laughed at the façade these 'innocent' people put up. He would have liked to dwell more on the subject, but was once again snapped from his thoughts by a voice escaping from the woman.

"Hmm?" He grunted in her direction, not wanting to speak and give himself away. He hadn't missed what she had said; he wanted her to think that he was uninterested. He realized long ago that if people think that you're uninterested, they usually become more intrigued.

"I said. . . I _know_ you saw me," her words were surprisingly unemotional. To anyone else her tone might have been oddly cold and a bit intimidating, but it was the Joker she was talking to. She didn't know this, but even if she did, something told him it wouldn't have mattered. Giving him little time to react, she spoke again.

"I told you, you should have gotten out of the car." She spoke to him, but maintained her glare on the road, not once turning to his scarred face. He wasn't sure she had even noticed his healed wounds. If she had, she either hadn't let on or honestly didn't care.

"You're wondering why I did that," she spoke and shifted her eyes as she turned a corner and drove them further from the 'safe' homes and apartments and closer to the outskirts on the other side of the tormented city.

All in all, it would take them less than a half an hour to cross the city, only because of the time of night. It would have taken closer to three hours to cross the city had it been mid-day. The 'rush' of commuter traffic flowed slower through the streets than molasses seeping through a clogged drain between key-business hours. But at this time of night, the streets were nearly bare, only leaving a few brave souls to wander the city's winding corridors created by the towering buildings overhead. Even by car, you had to have either a certain fearlessness or a complete lack of self-preservation to travel into the 'rough' part of town; really the entire town itself was rough, it just happened that the section they were about to enter was especially so.

"Did what?" The Joker spoke quietly, keeping his voice down as much as possible in his response. She took her dark eyes from the road and turned toward his direction. She was now glaring at him with an angrily quirked set of lips on her face. He'd understood what she'd meant by the stare. She looked back at the road, _both_ of them disappointed at his feigned ignorance, which ultimately disrespected the both of them.

Feeling the sudden need to breach the silence, he manipulated the situation to his benefit without even so much as a thought about it. The Joker was simply a natural manipulator. Not only that, but he was damn near genius at it; when it came to mind games, he was _God_. He concealed his voice in normalcy to the best of his abilities. He knew that he would still draw out some words and emphasize others at the wrong time, but concealing his accent, just like his physique, was simply a matter of appearance; it would always be the same underneath, but by making minor adjustments to the outside, it wouldn't be difficult to deceive un-expecting observers.

"Why would I care what you did with . . ._ To_ a police officer? From what I've _seeen_, they do little to clean up the streets, _and _. . . From what I've _hearrrd_ they actually _allow_ certain criminals to run free, for the right price of course. Even the twenty-year-men, the ones in it for the _looong_-haul . . . I hear that they can be bought and corrupted just as easily . . . It's obviously _truuue_ . . . I mean, just look at the _crazies_ running about!" With the last sentence, he stifled a laugh and turned his face out his window with a slight smirk, once again resting his head on his right hand. He spoke swiftly and methodically, knowing that he would redeem himself from his former statement. He hoped to bait her and pull her away from her current thoughts which, considering the situation, probably consisted of her contemplating how to kill him. She was squinting her eyes and thinking about what he'd said; she established that she agreed. She began to speak once more.

"These people. . ." Before continuing, she took a hand off the wheel and motioned to the buildings containing the mindless drowns called humans. "They . . . _they_ have little value in my eyes . . . they . . . well," she broke off, sighed, and contemplated her own words. After a moment, she began again, this time speaking confidently, now sure of what it was she was trying to say. "Take animals, for example. I respect them. You see, _they_ are selfish, emotionless, and . . . and unattached. They are completely self-serving and fully admitting of what they are. They are without shame, without arrogance . . . _Humans_," she spoke the word with such distaste that it was as if it was infecting her mouth. Moving past the filth of humanity's name on her tongue, she regained herself and the word once again, "Humans, on the other hand, they deny how disgusting they truly are . . . You see, _they_ . . . uh . . . They are really just animals given a little bit of intelligence and emotion. Still, they are self-serving, self-indulgent, greedy-really the living, breathing shit of the earth. The worst thing about them _is_ their emotional attachment to things. They have all these feelings, which are fine, I suppose, but _they _like to say that these emotions are what make them human, as if being human makes them worthy of living. They think that it makes them better than the rest of the animals, when in reality, it only makes them weaker . . . The lesser of the two species."

They came to a traffic light and she coasted to a stop as the yellow light changed to red. By this point in the conversation, the Joker was interested in her words, contemplating some, agreeing with others, and overall basically just observing. She turned to him, keeping her visual focus mainly on the road out of the corner of her eye. He turned towards her, now capturing her full attention. For some reason, he had no problem with her staring at him. He had enjoyed her intelligence thus far and could not wait until he could gain more information about her views; he could not wait to listen to what intriguing statement she was going to say next.

Almost as soon as he had that thought, she was speaking again.

"That's why I consider myself both less and more than a human," she spoke with a cautious tone, trying to find the right words. "They disgust me in the fact that they deny and even reject admitting to their own weaknesses, then constantly confuse these weaknesses with strength. These people would like to be better, to pretend they're better, when indeed they're not. In fact, it is because they _pretend_ to be better that actually makes them worse. They consciously know what they are doing and continue to do it. Animals . . . Animals, on the other hand, _just do _. . . They don't feel remorse for their actions, no matter how foul. They publicly admit to what they truly are. They fornicate, defecate, and live naked as the day they were born and all in the public's eye for everyone to see. They even kill their own kind openly. 

"Humans, no . . . They do these things in private and then constantly try to cover up their faults and their guilt by changing their outward appearance and throwing a smile on their faces. They conceal their secrets like chameleons, trying to adapt their skin to the situation around them, until even _they_ do not know their true colors. They think that by hiding it, the ugliness, that it makes them better, when in truth it only makes them even more sickening. Every day of life for them is a lie."

By now the light had long since turned green and a loud honk from an impatient driver erupted somewhere behind them, dragging both individuals out of the remarkable speech that the woman had just made. It was a truly proving to be an interesting conversation. Even though most of the talking occurred from only one member, the other was intently listening, making the conversation complete and meaningful to both parties.

With the honking, both members in the Camry swiftly looked away from each other, having just realized that they'd been staring at each other the entire time. The woman stepped on the gas pedal and the car instantly jutted forward, sliding easily out of its former position as a sitting duck. After a moment of driving, the woman began again.

"So, like I said, I don't consider myself human. I consider myself either more or less than one. I am more than human in the fact that I am intelligent enough to, among other things, realize what I'm doing and to know that it's a lie, but less than human in that I know what I do and yet, I still go on living like one, or even less than one, like an animal. See . . ."

She glanced over at him. He shifted his gaze toward her, but maintained his position.

"This is where it gets complicated. Because animals, unlike humans, are honest in their grotesque actions, does it make them better than humans? The problem that complicates what should be a rather simple and redeeming answer to this question is one basic fact. It is the fact that animals do not have the emotion and intelligence of humans, which complicates things. They are respected by me because they have no shame in their actions, but if they were given that intellect and those human feelings, would they act differently? So . . . Knowing that they may only act a certain way because they are lacking, are animals truly _more_ . . . or truly _less_ than humans," she paused for a moment before finishing her statement. "Am _I_ more . . ._ or_ less?" She spoke the last part mainly to herself, even though it was loud enough for both of them to hear.

He realized that even she did not know how to answer the question herself. Perhaps, eventually, he would be able to answer the question _for her_. He knew the proper response and _could have_ provided her instant relief in her little personal problem, but he wanted to see her squirm, or maybe he just _wanted_ . . . _What_ exactly it was that he wanted was unknown, even to him. He may not have known what he wanted, but he understood that he already knew the truth about her, even before she did.

A minute later and something else struck the woman, something she had forgotten to mention.

"Why is it they always assume you're crazy if you kill someone?" She briefly looked over at the man the rest of Gotham knew as The Joker, but tonight, to her, he was just her mysterious passenger. To him, she was the most interesting thing to come out of the night, and considering the fact that he had been to the circus that evening, that was truly saying something.

"Let us just say that a man shot another person in the head. Let's also say that the man cut off one of the dead person's limbs for his own consumption . . . You know, uh . . . He ate it," she said as she continued looking at the road.

At this, the Joker's mood shifted briefly. He was mildly disappointed with her for the first time during the entire conversation. He was a bit ashamed of her for her insolence. He didn't enjoy being treated as if he was not capable of understanding such a miniscule word as 'consumption'.

"You _knooow_ . . . I _do_ understand the meaning of the word _consumption_ . . . In fact, perhaps _you_ should take into account that I _may be_ the kind of man you are talking about," he said viscously. It was somewhat of a threat, but mostly just a way to inform his new companion of who truly had authority over the situation. He wanted her to know that even though she was the one doing most of the talking, that he was the one in charge. Although he was calm, the tone with which he spoke his words was low and dark, with just the slightest hint of a animalistic sexuality in them.

She didn't even blink. The swiftness of the words with which she spoke in response surprised even him.

"You _assume_ I think so highly of you that I would not put you in the same low league as the rest of the insolent humans," she spoke; her words were even and cold, fighting for dominance of the situation. She continued with the same threatening tone that he had forced onto her earlier. Regurgitating the same hint of sexual prowess she had picked up on in his tone, she darkly said, "Don't . . . assume . . . _ever_."

Just as quickly the small interval had occurred; it ended, leaving not so much as the slightest hint of tension in the air, as if nothing had ever happened. With its passing it took the threatening tone from the car, but left the slightest glimmer of heated eroticism in its place.

"So, anyway, the guy shoots somebody in the head, let's say a kid. He simply _must_ be crazy, right? I mean, he _did_ shoot a kid in the head. Never mind the fact that this manner of execution is, overall, a very effective, efficient, and generally swift way of killing someone and causing minimal suffering in the victim. However, the fact that the person the man shot and consumed was a kid, society translates this man's actions to insanity. Society disappoints in their assessments again; in their eyes, the murder of a child is more painful than the murder of an adult, as if youth somehow equals innocence, when truly it only translates to ignorance and inexperience. Humanity often confuses youth with worthiness, as if _they_ are more _deserving_ to survive than the rest of us.

"Don't get things confused, I'm not condoning cannibalism or the slaughtering of children, but that doesn't mean that I agree with the way society views the individuals that do these things. I simply feel that these judgmental people are being liars, which is nothing out of the ordinary for these people, but the fact that they feel _sooo strongly_ about the subject of someone else's life, peeves me off a bit. Anyway, during this murdering cannibal's trial these people, these lawyers and cops and common-folk jury members, oh, and let's not forget the judge . . . Well, they all go out to lunch during the court's recess and they all order steak-why all of them? I don't know, because I said so, that's why. Anyway, so they all order steak. They eat, recess ends, and they all go back to court. At court, they rule that the charged man is guilty by rule of insanity. Now here's where I get a little agitated. These court members just ruled a man insane, which will ultimately get him committed, for shooting a child in the head and eating his dead body. Now, like I said, I am not, by any means saying that I agree with cannibalism . . . no. no, no, no, NO! But, I find it extremely hypocritical that this room full of people just convicted this man and called him insane for eating meat, I know, I know, it was a person, but meat none-the-less. And all of this after they just feasted on the mutilated corpses of unintelligible-yet honorable, creatures . . . And the sickest part about the whole thing is the fact that these people, given the right circumstances, would probably eat the dead bodies of their _own_ children rather than starve to death . . . It's a sick, sick place-this world."

She ended her speech in a sing-song voice, as if she was pleased with her discovery of a crumbling society; a society that lacked morale and sanctity and yet still claimed to 'have it all together'. She was not the only one who was pleased with her speech; the Joker was thoroughly enjoying her company now. He was actually becoming enthralled by her. Her voice, the things she'd said, her actions, it was all luring him in unintentionally. He'd established that he wanted to use her, he didn't know how, or what for, or even if he for certain would, but he knew that he _wanted_ to.

She kept driving and long moments of silence passed. Both people in the car were enjoying the aftermath of what was just said. Much like the afterglow of sex, they inwardly smiled and contemplated meaning behind what their interaction meant; what this conversation and all that it had covered meant about themselves and their combined view of society.

However, beneath the layers, both of them were circling each other, sizing each other up. He was basing his measurements of her on the words she had said and she was basing her measurements of him on his reaction to those words. Even though the tension should have been high, both of them were at ease in each other's presence. And just like a bright flash in a dark room, they were pulled out of their euphoric thoughts when the woman pressed down on the brake pedal out of habit. The car screeched angrily to a halt in front of a decrepit building, in the worst part of town.

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**JAc: well, there you go. I hope that was enjoyed. If you read it, please review...I'm sort-of contemplating poo-canning this. Sooo, let me know if its worth saving...Please : ) **


	3. I wanted to breathe smoke

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Disclaimer: I wish I owned TDK and JOKER, but I don't, so don't sue.

**Hey, JAc here.**

**I really wanted to thank my reviewers.**

**Larenmlbc and darchayez-thanks to you guys.**

**Thank you also-to the three other people who added this story to your fav. list**

**or alert list. I didn't know if you wanted to be mentioned-lemme know!**

**Thank you so much for reading, please review-I really appreciate it!-It keeps me going!**

**-Thanks, JAc :)**

Jolene

jolene jolene jolene jolene  
I'm begging of you, please don't take my man  
jolene jolene jolene jolene  
please don't take him even though you can  
your beauty is beyond compare  
with flaming locks of auburn hair  
with ivory skin  
and eyes of emerald green  
your smile is like a breath of spring  
your voice is soft like summer rain  
I cannot compete with you jolene  
and he talks about you in his sleep  
and there is nothing I can do to keep  
from crying when he calls your name, jolene  
jolene jolene jolene jolene  
I'm begging of you please don't take my man  
jolene jolene jolene jolene  
please don't take him even though you can  
well I can easily understand  
how you can easily take my man  
but you don't know what he means to me jolene  
well you could have your choice of men  
but I could never love again  
he's the only one for me jolene  
and I had to had to have this talk with you  
my happiness depends on you  
and whatever you decide to do jolene  
jolene jolene jolene jolene  
I'm begging of you please don't take my man  
jolene jolene jolene jolene  
please don't take him even though you can

-The White Stripes (originally written and performed by Dolly Parton)

The car had come to the end of its journey in one of the roughest parts of one of the most dangerous cities in the country. Despite the fact that the conversation he had just been involved in was consuming his thoughts, it hadn't gone unnoticed to the Joker that he and his new companion had been steadily creeping into the worst part of town over the past several minutes.

The woman reached in her pocket and pulled out a small, black box. She opened it and pulled out a long, black cigarette. Putting it to her mouth, she was about to light it when the Joker spoke up. His voice was bordering intimidating as he spoke sarcastically to her.

"Smoking kills, you know." It was more of a statement than a question and more of a mockery than a statement.

She smiled with the cigarette dangling from her lips. Her soft demeanor brutally contrasted her actions and speech. Everything about her was a contrast and by this point, even the Joker wouldn't deny that he was beyond intrigued, almost bordering enthralled, and quickly developing a short-term infatuation.

"They kill huh? . . . Well so do I . . ." She spoke softly but firmly. Her voice was unwavering even with the cigarette pressed firmly between her lips, unwilling it to fall.

"And if I know…" She paused and held a black lighter up to the cig. She finally lit it and the smell of smoke, clove, and juicy fruit filled the car. He was amused; even her choice of cigarette was interesting. Grasping it between the fingers on her left hand, she glanced out the window and exhaled graciously. She repeated herself. "And if I know . . . then why are you telling me that they kill?"

She inhaled off the cig, smoke penetrating her throat and lungs. She turned toward the man she'd picked up earlier; his eyes were already trained on her face. Thinking briefly about what was just said, they both instantaneously started laughing.

The entire last part of their ongoing conversation was simply too perfect. His response to her smoking habit ultimately mocked her intelligence because it was as if he were saying she did not know the risks involved in smoking. Her response to him was ironically humorous because she actually _did_ kill people just like cigarettes. The fact that they both understood the damage of smoking only added to the hilarity and made what they said unnecessary.

All of these things combined meant that the conversation had been ultimately pointless, which was funny because they were so intelligent that pointless conversation rarely, if ever, occurred for either one of them, let alone the fact that they were now together. It was too perfect and both of them understood the humor in the situation. Two nearly complete strangers and here they were laughing together and conversing as if they were old friends reunited and catching up. As if they were as 'normal' as the rest of society-the _exact_ same society that they were mocking for their pretended 'normalcy'.

After a few minutes, their laughing died down. The Joker openly smiled showing his teeth and looked out his window. The woman looked down with an equally pleasant but closed mouth smile. She realized then that she still had her cigarette; smoking had almost become a part of her and she had forgotten that it was there. She took a long drag and adjusted comfortably to the newly acquired silence in the car.

It was then that she realized that she had been getting too comfortable with her passenger. She also felt that he was getting a little too comfortable in _her_ presence, which actually made her _un_comfortable.

She wanted his fear. Fear was not respect, she knew this, but she still thrived on it, loved it even, and she . . . _She_ did _not_ love.

She thought quickly, deciding that using their current whereabouts would most likely prove to be affective in bothering her new companion.

Fear was not the only thing she wanted. She wanted something else as well, something that wouldn't be realized by him until she wanted him to, something that would not come into play until much, much later.

"You wondering why I live here?" She wasn't asking; she didn't really care if he was wondering or not. She was, once again, simply sharing her views. Without waiting for his response, which only proved her lack of consideration for his reply, she began speaking again. "I live here because . . . because _this_," she gave a small chuckle at the irony of the statement that she was about to make, "_this_ . . . is the _safest _part of town."

This statement, which would have shocked anyone else, merely intrigued the Joker, making him inquire her reasoning behind the awkward statement, causing him to look directly at her. Had it been anyone else who had suggested it . . . who said that this crime ridden part of town, the part of town that consisted solely of human filth and desolate buildings that had been abandoned long ago, the Joker would have thought they were ridiculous and dismissed them and their foolishness, but something about _her_, something about _this_ particular woman told him that she would be able to completely back her statement. She would fully explain herself and her thoughts. And he knew, even before she began to speak, that she would impress him in her reasoning.

"You see," she began. He noticed that she often began her statements with this particular introduction. "Most people think that this is the worst part of town when the reality of it is that _this_ is the safest part. It is well known that this part of town contains most of the city's best known and most feared criminals, correct?" she glanced in his direction and he simply nodded 'yes' in response.

She continued. "Which means . . . most 'normal' people, most idiotic people, would avoid this particular part of the city like a damn plague . . . you know what?" She sporadically broke off into a stemming thought. "I feel like naming a specific plague. Let's say . . . Bubonic . . . Anyway, back to the point."

Her random insertion of an unimportant and fictional detail made the Joker smile beside her.

"So, people avoid this part of the city like the _Bubonic_ plague, not even coming near it. Well, the way I see it, all the criminals will go out to other parts of the city to do their bidding. I mean, there's no point in robbing any houses in such a poor, low-class part of town; there'd _be_ nothing to rob!" She was smiling along with him now. "So, essentially, you don't really have to worry about getting anything stolen or being mugged. If you live here, the criminals aren't going to rob you. I figure that they must view it as pointless . . .

" Another reason why they wouldn't do anything here is the attention . . . The way I see it is, if you live here, and you're a criminal, why would you ever want to draw attention to yourself? It wouldn't make much sense to commit crimes in the area of your own residence, which would invite all the cops and detectives to come into the area.

"Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that all of the local criminals are smart or anything even resembling intelligent, but the fact that they are street savvy is undeniable. They know that if they commit crimes in the other parts of the city, they will not only be more successful in their findings, but will also keep the attention of authorities away from their place of residence," she said.

She had all but finished making her point by now, which, just as the Joker had suspected, proved to be one worthy of his attention.

"Plus," she added a moment later, "I know I won't be bothered. I figure the rest of the populace is too chicken shit to come into this part of town."

With that the both of them began laughing again, as if they completely understood each other and why it was the 'normal' people who should be avoided.

She spoke with truth, not wanting to blatantly scare him, but wanting to instill fear through subtlety mentioning certain things. She would then shift the focus to less important topics, making them the main point and bringing them into the fore front, hoping that he would be too focused on the first part to notice. Unfortunately for her, her passenger was quite a bit smarter than she'd noted, which meant that he had caught onto what she was doing before even she knew.

They got out of the car and circled around to the back of the car. She leaned nonchalantly against the trunk with her legs crossed at the ankles and her arms folded across her chest and still smoking her black cigarette. The Joker was leaning next to her, his stance a bit more hunched than hers. They were looking out at the street, which was cast in a dingy golden glow amongst the blackness. They weren't saying a word, as if they had been friends throughout their entire existence. They had that comfort of a long friendship, without the knowledge of all the little secrets that often create a burden and complicate the relationships of average people by adding an uncomfortable air to the situation.

She inhaled a last drag then tossed the butt in front of her. She looked half disgusted at it, or perhaps herself for the degrading habit. She side-stepped around him and headed towards a shabby building's entrance.

'_This must be her apartment,_' he thought.

She turned her head and glanced over her shoulder, a pair of smoldering eyes now turned to focus on the Jokers naked face. He shrugged himself off of the car and began to follow after her. She turned away, but waited for him to join her in walking. He was at her side in less than two strides. Although he shuffled when he walked, he was somehow able to cover huge distances with a small amount of steps. She threw open the glass door to the street entrance of the apartment building and they were immediately greeted with a small section of hallway to the left and a flight of stairs almost directly in front of them. He followed her up the weatherworn stairs. They had huge dips in them where they had been walked on the most. The walls were a dirty, piss yellow with wood paneling about half-way up. She seemed to be bounding up the stairs.

He _was_ looking at the stairs, but glanced up momentarily and was greeted by the pleasant image of her rear. He really didn't know what to think of it, being that it was very near to his face and all.

Being the Joker, he thought that the humanistic practice of holding something as disgusting as the ass of a person in such high regards was pathetic. He viewed these body parts as simply mechanical, things that were meant simply to serve purpose. However, something from his instinctive side, the side that co-owned his body with two other sides, was guiding his body now, and it was telling him that he liked what he saw. He usually did things based on the instinctive, lusting side, which was _usually_ lusting for blood, death, or destruction. The other two sides were his logical side and his manipulative side; all three of these sides were extremely intelligent and were always fighting for dominance of his body.

He shifted his focus as they came up the third flight of stairs. He wondered if anyone besides her lived here, but didn't really care; he would find out more later. She pulled her keys from her pocket and unlocked only one lock on her third floor door. She obviously actually believed her own words and didn't feel that anyone would ever break into her apartment.

Her apartment was located on the top floor and was quite small. It literally consisted of three rooms. They entered a living room that was nearly barren of furniture. There was a couch with two side tables and a lamp on one of them, an outdated television in the corner, and a coffee table in front of the couch. The furniture was old and shabby looking. The living room had an adjourning kitchen to its left. The kitchen also looked like it hadn't been updated since its creation. It still had its pathetic avocado colored fridge, which was obviously an original. The cabinets looked equally as broken; some didn't even have doors on them. There was a bedroom directly behind the living room couch with a bathroom to its left that could be entered through either the bedroom or the living room.

The only thing that stood out was the very same thing that saved the apartment from being completely bare; the entire apartment was scattered with books, newspapers, journals, notebooks, and anything that could be read or written in. They were everywhere: on the tables, on the couch, on the top of the T.V. and they were practically carpeting the floor. He hadn't been in her bedroom, but he imagined that it would be similar, with papers strewn about the room.

There was also one other thing of interest. There was a single, pathetic little plant sitting on the sill of one of the only two windows in the living room. It only had two leaves and it was struggling to maintain both of them simultaneously. Almost as soon as he had given it a single thought in his infinitely genius mind, than the woman walked over to the plant with a small dropper and squeezed exactly three drops of water on the plant. It almost immediately seemed to perk up a bit and regain some of its color.

"I know, it looks pathetic," she said as if almost reading his thoughts. "But, you see, sometimes deprivation makes things stronger, better. Survival instincts kick in when things have to fight to maintain life. It allows observers to see their true nature, the true nature of things. I guess that kind of applies to my views on society," she laughed mildly. "It's same thing, different group that it is being applied to. Give enough . . . or should I say _take away_ enough from people, society, _anything_ really . . . and they'll . . . they'll . . ." She was desperately searching for the correct set of words.

He interrupted her abruptly, saying what she was not, "They'll _eat_ each other to survive. It's ridiculous really, the _true_ lack of discipline that these people will have under the correct circumstances."

It was at that moment that they both realized that a true connection was made. It wasn't sexual, or violent, but rather a true human connection between two animalistic individuals. They were staring at each other.

She broke the stare and moved away from the plant and sat down on the couch. She shoved several newspapers and a book off of the cushion next to her to the floor. The Joker took it as a sign to sit next to her. She tried to turn on the television, but was met with only static. Not wanting to get up and adjust the rabbit ears, she sighed and turned it off.

"Oh well, it would've probably just been boring shit anyway," she spoke nonchalantly. "I mean, there was probably nothing major, just some local shooting, robbery, whatever." She laughed, which made the Joker look at her curiously. She broke off to start talking again.

"We'd have known if the Joker attacked," she paused, setting up the joke, "We would have heard 'boom' and screams and felt a quake. The sky would be a cloud of black dust right now." She laughed and he laughed with her.

_'Oh, if she only knew.'_ He thought.

After a moment passed, she decided that she would get up and adjust the T.V. after all. She turned it on and started fiddling with the antennas. The Joker found himself glancing around the room in his usual bored fashion, which always came off as if he was interested in something, rather than bored of everything. Eventually she got a strong enough signal that she could move away from the antennas and maintain somewhat of an image. It wasn't in focus, but it was clear enough to watch.

The channel was set to a local news station and the newscaster was reporting something mundane about the nation's crashing economy. There was more news about recession and a story about a local woman that took in so many stray cats and dogs that she made it on the news getting taken away in chains. Then something caught the woman's eye and she immediately sat forward, leaning into the T.V. The news reporter was babbling on about the mob's supposed involvement in the distribution of the fear inducing toxin that tormented the city of Gotham around a year ago. The woman looked aggravated.

"Well isn't that just pathetic." She leaned back into her former position and turned to face the nameless man she had picked up earlier. She still hadn't noticed his scars. He stayed within the confines of shadow in order to hide his true face, the face that normally instilled fear in people.

"I mean . . . all these people lately, they have all been doing it wrong . . . messing with society, I mean. Think about it, they're all trying to instill fear and panic, right? I mean the mob, that Crane guy, the Batman. They're all wrong. Take for instance this Joker guy," she captured his full attention. It wasn't that he was so arrogant that his attention perked at the mention of his name, it was that, aside from the Batman, he considered himself in a completely different league from the other criminals mentioned. "I mean, he's brilliant, superb, impressive even. But even _he_ is going about it all wrong." This line really caught his attention and he looked directly at her, while maintaining an unemotional look on his face. She looked at him and continued. "Okay, he's not going about it _all_ wrong . . . Well, _actually_, not at all. In fact, disregard that statement; he's doing a fine job of breaking down human society. Yes, he's going about it in a great way indeed, but not _the best_ way . . . Okay, look. He is using blunt force and threats to instill fear into the masses. To prove . . . well, whatever it is that he is trying to prove, which is fine, but not really the best way to go about things." She paused and thought about what exactly it was that she was trying to say. She stood up and took a different approach.

"What _does_ everybody do?" She looked at him expectantly and was met with only a quirked eyebrow on his barely visible face. "Come on. _What does everybody do?_" She waited again for an answer and was met with nothing. She let out an exasperated sigh, thinking that she wasn't getting anywhere, when in reality, the mysterious man was yearning to speak and aching because he couldn't. He refused to give his identity away and give this woman reason to discontinue sharing her interesting views with him.

He just waited for her to continue. She gained speed and excitement. "_Everybody_ drinks coffee. Everybody drinks coffee and everybody takes showers. Essentially, _these_ are the things everybody does: take showers and drink coffee . . . _both _require what?" This time, she didn't wait for an answer. "Water! They both require water. You see, what I've done is apply this to all things-not so much what everyone _does_, but what everyone _needs_. People _need_ communication, they _need_ transportation. People _need_ these things . . . They _need_ water. See, each one of these things is in traction; they all have a _route_ to which they _must_ follow. Block the route and you take out the thing _needed_. Take out _one_ of the things needed, you take down the _entire_ system."

He understood what she was saying. He embraced it and stored it in his mental bank for later. He was enthralled. Yes, he determined that he simply _must_ learn more about this woman. His mind was already rapidly beginning to work things out. He often viewed things in snap shots, which was one reason why he was able to work things out in his mind so quickly and be many steps ahead of those around him. That very well may have been the main reason he was becoming so interested in this woman before him; because, although he was still ahead of her, it was only by a few steps, while everyone else seemed to be behind by miles.

He dragged himself out of his mind, which, while it wasn't difficult to do, meant that he was being taken out of where he was most comfortable. He was met with a set of lovely eyes staring at him, which surprisingly did not bother him. He was still shrouded in darkness, so he knew she wasn't staring at his scars. He was staring again as well. He realized that he should be leaving at that point. He needed to be gone before she saw his scars and figured out who exactly he was. Then he would have to kill her and that wouldn't have been nearly as fun as studying her and ultimately destroying her. Besides, he thought that the world was a little bit more interesting with her in it . . . At least for now anyway.

At that he got up and headed towards her front door. She stood almost immediately and followed. He walked down the stairs and to the hideously cracked door that lead out into the darkness and out of the dingy light of the stairwell hall. He opened the door and stepped out into the night before turning to her. She was leaning against the doorframe with her hands in her pockets. Even in such a relaxed position, he could tell that she was ready to pounce at any life threatening movements. He knew that she wouldn't even give a reaction to just any movement; it would have to have been a threatening movement.

"I really must be going now," he said, unwarily facing her, knowing that he was only an outline at best in the blackened outside.

She simply nodded her head in agreement, feeling that it was probably best for both of them. If he didn't leave soon, she knew that she would change her mind about not killing him and she didn't really want that to happen. It was rare to meet someone that, may not have agreed with her views, but at least accepted and respected them for what they were. She felt that, although he was not necessary piece of society, nobody really was in her mind, the world would be a little less . . . Well, really just a little _less_ without him.

She was about to turn around and head back up to her apartment when a voice quietly called out to her.

"Name?" said her former passenger from about ten feet away. He could have figured it out on his own within three minutes, but something made him want to hear it from her. It was a bit funny to him, considering that he usually wanted people to shut up, and here he was almost-_almost_ wanting to hear her voice again. He constricted his giggle to remain in his throat so that he could listen to her response.

"Excuse . . . ?" She was asking him what he said and, for the first time in the evening, he was irritated at her question. He did _not_ enjoy repeating himself; he felt that if a person did not hear him the first time, it was because they weren't listening-and why should he have to take his time to repeat himself if it was their fault? He let it go, not because it was her, but because, well, actually, he didn't know why.

"_What.is.your.name_?" His voice was beginning to sound like it usually did and he knew that he needed to leave soon. Sleep was eroding his ability to appear 'normal'.

She waited for a moment. She wondered if she should make one up like she usually would if a stranger asked her for her name. She quickly decided she wouldn't.

She said one word, and only one.

"Jolene."

"Jolene," he repeated. "Well, Goodnight,_ Jolene_," he said like some sort of twisted gentleman before turning on his heel and walking down the street.

She called out to him, "Goodnight, _stranger." _The statement of him being _strange_ was truer than she could understand at that time. Oh, but she _would_ understand. He would _make _her.

She didn't ask for his name, which meant that she respected his privacy, in turn, meaning that he respected her, to a degree at least. Or maybe she simply didn't care, which he would have also respected, considering that a lack of caring was also a quality that he carried and prided himself on. She stared at the odd man's back as he headed down the road.

"Life's fuckin' weird," she said to herself before turning around and heading up the stairs. The Joker simply walked down the road, tired, a bit slap happy, and giggling to himself. He found himself repeating her name anxiously.

"_Jolene_. Jo-_lene_. Jo_leeene_. Jo. Joey. Jo-_eeey_. Jo-Jo," _uck_, he didn't like the last one. He repeated her name and every variation of it almost all the way back to his home. _Oh, yes, he definitely would have fun with her. _

He whispered her name one last time before erupting into a fit of laughter that was completely true to his nature. The falseness that he had forced into his voice earlier when _she_ was around was completely gone and all that remained was a disgusting, wretched laughter. His laugh sounded like children dying, like death, like defeat, like emptiness, like . . ._ Hell_. The sickening sound filled the streets like air.

He didn't view her as a _doll_ or a _toy_ or a _plaything_, but not a person either; no-she was above humanity. She was intelligent, on a certain level even, not his of course, but definitely above the level that he placed other humans. He knew that he would have fun with her; maybe they could even have fun together. Either way he would be satisfied.

He disappeared off down the street having become assured of one thing: He. wanted. her. Not in a sexual way, but he wanted her . . . And he always got what he wanted.

Always.

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**IMPORTANT A/N:** If you already read chapter three, before today, you'll notice there is now a song up there. This is the song fron which I got the name Jolene. I was unsure as to whether or not I should put it up there because, although the White Stripes version is phenomenal(yeah I probably speeled that wrong), the content of the song was not so close to the story as the others have been/will be. Then, after much personal deliberation, I decided that indeed I was mistaken and the song actually DOES relate to the story...I'm quite big on song dialisis, but this fanfic is not a song fic. I put the songs at the begining to foreshadow the chapter and because it relates to what is going on. I immensly appreciate if you read the lyrics and really think about what they are saying, for ALL the songs used, but if you don't , I don't mind- nor am I offended. I am so appreciative for people just reading and reviewing this-that that is sooo much more than I could ever ask for. So thank you-the reviews keep me writing. I realised that it is like encouragement, NOT blackmail. I am not threatening you- I will update whether people review or not, but I find that by me encouraging you to update, what you say encourages me to write more and update faster, because I feel like people are actually caring about my story. So, again, thank you.

**The plant:** To clear this up so that you don't even bother wondering: NO she will NOT be Poison Ivy, no matter how much I love the character.

**Jolene:** Even though the title of the story is Josephine Rising, her name is Jolene. Josephine Rising is simply a reference to the phrase Napoleon Risin(as in Napoleon Bonaparte). He was an amazing war general, who crowned himself. But through his viscousness, he had one weakness: his queen Josephine. He was a God of war. To give you an idea of his love for her: his dying words were "Josephine, Josephine." Soo, if you want more on that-visit wikipedia for a breif history.

**The Character (Jolene's) image:** The song has nothing to do with her image. However, if you feel that this is what she looks like; if this is your view of her, then let it be. In honesty, I probably will not give her a definate look. I prefer to leave the image of **my** characters (meaning not the Joker/Batman/etc.) to remain abstract, so that the reader can make up their minds about her and what she looks like.

**JAC: **Sorry that was sooo long. I hope that clears things up. Thanks guys. Please review!


	4. Broken and Sleeping with Giants

**Disclaimer: I don't own it-don't sue my ass-I'm broke!**

**Hey, **

**I am DEEPLY and TRULY sorry**

**that it took me soooo long to update.**

**Trust me, if it could have been done sooner,**

**it would have.**

**I thank you all for sticking with me and**

**being as patient and kind as you have been!**

**Thank you to all the people that put my story on alert/fav.**

**Thank you!**

**Thank you to my reviewers-I am ever so gracious **

**and in debt to you all. . .**

**LA Knight **

**(go check out her story called: Five Queens and a Joker)**

**brutal.acrimony**

**555LordBacon666**

**Laurenlbc **

**(thank you for reviewing each chapter)**

**ryuzaki25**

**THANK YOU ALL!!**

**-JAc :D**

I've noticed, people, they all have motives.  
Different, yet all the same.  
I fumble through every word that is spoken,  
and I barely knew your name.  
I'm tongue-tied, it runs through my blood and my insides;  
Some things we can't escape.  
But if we try, if we try, we can leave this behind.

It's been a lifetime, a lifetime we waited for.  
A simple question, kid, "are you with me or not at all?"

Your eyes wide, always ahead of the curve tide,  
quiet, and confident.  
Oh, we stood there, awkward and youthful, we tangled;  
A piece of my soul escaped.  
Oh, we are restless and tired, sleeping with giants,  
A model make out with the egos of fire and it seems like it's been a lifetime

a lifetime we've waited for.  
A simple question, kid, "are you with me or not at all?"  
Are we wasting time or is it wasting us?  
It's been a lifetime waiting for now, now.  
Well, you've got to find a way,  
you've got to find a way,  
you've got to find a way,  
you've got to find a way,  
you've got to find a way before you fold in.

It's been a lifetime,  
a lifetime I've waited for.  
A simple question, kid, "are you with me or not at all?"

It's been a lifetime, a lifetime we waited for.  
I need an answer, kid, you're either with me or not at all, no, no.  
Are we wasting time or is it wasting us?  
It's been a lifetime, a lifetime, a lifetime, a lifetime, yeah.  
Well, you've got to find a way,  
you've got to find a way,  
you've got to find a way,  
you've got to find a way.  
Said you've got to find a way,  
you've got to find a way,  
you've got to find a way before you fold in.

-The Academy is. . .

A/N: Sorry, that the title is misleading, no sex. . .for now. :D

* * *

It had been nearly three weeks since the woman, Jolene, had an amazing conversation unknowingly with the man Gotham feared most: the Joker. It had also been three weeks since she'd said farewell to her wayward passenger. And while she went on with her life, not giving the man a second thought, the Joker was not quite so able to let _Jolene_ escape his twisted mind. In fact, he'd been keeping quite close tabs on his latest little infatuation. He was far too busy himself with other business of damaging the city's tarnished soul and brutally murdering it's people's hope to personally keep his focus on her, so he'd been having several of his henchmen track her continuously in shifts. He was given brief updates on her whereabouts either throughout the day or as one bulk update in the evening, depending on which of his men was watching her at the time.

He was quickly becoming increasingly aggravated with his men and their lack of discovery on Jolene, and he was _not_ someone that it would be wise to aggravate. It wasn't that he hadn't learned anything about her; it was that he wasn't entirely sure how much of what he had learned was vital.

He'd discovered that she lived the majority of her life in lonesome solace. All of his men reported similar tendencies without collaboration, however, while her tendencies added up, her actions from day to day varied so much that it was as if he was having ten different people tracked instead of just one.

One day she would go out early in the morning, jump in her car, drive across town to the city park and stay there all day, sometimes all night. Had it been anyone else, the Joker would have thought her an idiot to be in the park that late. However, because it was Jolene that was in the park after early evening's pass, he only viewed her as even more fearless then she already was. The thought of a fearlessly bold individual made his blood burn; she was _excitingly_ dangerous.

The next day she might be at the library all day, helping out the elderly head librarian sort through books and gliding up and down between the long mahogany shelves, merrily humming as if she was a damn princess. He didn't like thinking of her that way; he liked her twisted viciousness not the giddy little idiot that she was portraying in her false state of glee. He wanted to see her free and uncontrollable, like the natural wildfire that he just _knew _she was.

He wanted, longed even to see that side of her. He got a glimpse, only a slight glimpse of it when she executed that police officer. He had determined that he very much wanted to see more of that side. Just a glimpse of it wasn't enough for him; he simply _had to_ see the full picture. He knew that if she was that explosive on such a basic, sporadic instinct, that she would be phenomenally and utterly obliterating if she were to plan and build up anticipation to a kill. He wanted to see now. . . But, he would wait; all truly pleasurable things took time. He knew he'd see it soon, but it wasn't completely set up yet. Besides, he had _other _things to attend to. He couldn't spend all day thinking about _her_.

Other days, she didn't leave the house. It was on these particular days that the Joker was aggravated even more so than usual. He realized that getting little updates on her throughout the day put him at ease and took him comfortably out of his element, if only for a few moments. He found that he didn't often think about her, but if he wasn't updated on her state, he would realize that something was missing from his day and then she would be the _only_ thing he could think about.

When he wasn't getting his little updates, he would get aggravated enough, but when she became a complete distraction from his work, that is when he burned; fuming with infuriation, which only made him more distracted and even more angered. He didn't have the time or the patience to deal with such distractions as highly intriguing, sexy, murdering philosophers.

When Jolene didn't leave her house, she gave the Joker's men little to work with. They could only report the very little that they could see through her side window, the one with the plant on its sill. The other few windows she had in her apartment were shaded with dingy, cream-colored drapes that concealed the men's' already obscured view.

The men already had limited sight because of their placement. They were forced to remain either at street level or on the roof top of the building across from hers in order to catch the slightest hint of life from her apartment.

The first time that she had stayed home all day, the Joker figured that the man that had been assigned to watch her during that period was one of his men that liked to give a bulk update at the end of the day, rather than several smaller ones throughout. He loved and loathed days like this. He hated the fact that he had to wait all day for an update, and yet enjoyed the anticipation; her life had become like a book to him, reading a new chapter of it each day. It relaxed him. So, naturally, the first time she had stayed at home, his man hadn't reported and he had assumed that he would be getting one of these enjoyable end-of-the-day reports. When his man showed up at a quarter to midnight, the Joker was sitting in a well-worn, leather recliner, reading a newspaper, and awaiting the update to arrive so that he could once more remove her from his weary mind and move forward from his crazed life and into sleep.

The Joker said nothing; he simply looked up from his paper in expectance. When the man said nothing, the Joker became annoyed and asked him of what _his little Jolene_ had been up to that day. . . _His _Jolene. . . Oh, he liked that. And she would be his, oh yes, at least until he got bored of her.

After the man explained that she hadn't left the house all day, the Joker lost it. On the surface he had remained cool and appeared unbothered by the fact that nothing new had been discovered on his _Jolene_. But underneath, underneath his surface he was _boiling_. Behind his collected façade, he was a time bomb that was suddenly ignited. Still, he maintained his composure, even as he shot the man through his newspaper. The man died a squirming mess a few feet before him and the Joker could only sigh at the big hole in his paper now disrupting his reading.

He internally told himself that he hadn't taken the man's life because of Jolene. He'd needed a good kill and was meaning to be rid himself of this particular fool anyway; the man's insolence only gave the Joker more reason and egged him on, as if he really needed a reason anyway.

Each of his men reported that she woke up promptly at six a.m. every morning. She spent the bulk of her time wandering about the city seemingly without purpose, but he knew better. The Joker knew that nothing he did was without purpose, and while most people made the assumption that this factor set him apart from other people, he also knew that this wasn't entirely true. It was the degree to which he manipulated his actions and what he revealed to others, amongst other things, which made his persona so different from regular people; the fact that he was either insanely-genius or geniusly-insane also helped. He realized that rarely did people do things without purpose, even if a person was doing something subconsciously; if someone fell asleep in a chair, it was because they were tired, if somebody blinked it was because their eyes were dry, if someone killed-well, then it was usually him. People didn't do things without a reason, not even him, not even if he claimed to. People had a reason for what they did; especially people like him . . . like _her_.

So while she appeared to live spontaneously, the Joker began putting two and two together rapidly. He began keeping a calendar of her whereabouts and had his men now recording her actions moment-to-moment. If she sat in the park for a half-an-hour, he wanted to know. If she wrote for three minutes, he wanted to know. He _needed_ to if he was going to use her properly. With his men's updates and his calendar, he figured out things about her that probably no one else in her entire life had before; and he _loved _it, and he was a man that did _not_ love. He loved that he knew what he could use to twist her in his hands like putty, a fairly electric and sexually charged piece of putty, but a piece of putty none-the-less.

He'd realized that she was leading a rather planned life. She'd spend one day at the park, writing all day and people watching; she would observe them-sizing them up, for what, he still wasn't sure. The next day, she'd spend at the library, reading, writing, working; he thought that she had probably earned the majority of her income that way, but when he sent one of his boys to find out, _Jolene's_ pretty little name was nowhere on the payroll. . . Odd, very odd indeed. And then other days, the days that he _absolutely loathed_, she spent in her apartment and he didn't learn a damn thing new about her. She moved in patterns like this for days. Then, _it_ happened.

It was two-seventeen a.m. and the Joker opened the hard-wood door to the shit-hole of an abandoned house in which he and his little operation were working out of.

"_Honeeeey_, I'm _hommme_!" He said. His men would have snorted in retort if they didn't think they'd get shot or worse for it; he came 'home' and gave that announcement of his entrance at least once a day. He tried to sound like Ricky Ricardo off of 'I Love Lucy', but it came out more like a creepy member of the Adam's family.

He stood in the entrance way to the living room, which was cast in an eerie blue-darkness from the TV, and glanced at what his men were watching. It was some idiotic program that had two rather large-chested women wrestling in a boxing-ring filled with milk, in front of about a few hundred people. The Joker just rolled his eyes and gave an aggravated smirk at his men, who were now drinking beer and cheering at the screen. One of his men, sitting closest near where the Joker was standing, offered him a beer. The Joker just looked down at the man and raised his eyebrows before grunting loudly and turning to exit the room.

He headed towards the kitchen area across the hall. It was a little square kitchen and it was painted yellow but had long since been covered in a thick film of dirt and smoker's ash. When the Joker entered, one of his men was sitting at the small round table that sat in the middle of the room. It was the only man that was left from his original group of men, the group of men that he had before he got captured by the Bat and taken away by the Swat team the night his little social experiment backfired on him.

He hated that night, and hated thinking about it. Those people on the ferries, what a disappointment, pfft. They only had to do _one thing_, one little thing, and they couldn't pull through. He thought angrily before brushing it off and out of his mind. He went to Arkham, and the majority of his men were dragged off with him; those that weren't either ditched town or got killed for ripping off the wrong people after he was committed. When he felt he'd been there long enough, after his little wounds were healed and he had come up with new, even more destructive ways to corrupt the city, he escaped. When he did so, the only man that came back when he put word out in the underground was this one; he thought is name was _Johnny_? He couldn't recall, didn't really care, but he remembered thinking how cliché the guy's name was when he'd first discovered him. Usually, the Joker didn't want to know his men's names, not because he was weary of attachment to them, but because he found that if he knew a person's name, he often came up with an imaginary life for them, which usually included their families, in turn, giving him all the more reason to kill his men off and cause their families pain, but then he'd be out a man. This was always the dilemma. He'd rather avoid the entire situation and never learn their name's in the first place. However, he realized that he actually enjoyed Johnny's company, it wouldn't save the man from dying at his hands, but he still liked him.

Johnny wasn't like his other men. He was really quite intelligent and loyal. He liked loyal, when it came to his men, sometimes. He was always at a cross-roads with most things, the same thing with loyalty. He figured that if his men weren't loyal to him, that they would be more like him and he'd enjoy them more. At the same time, loyalty meant that they wouldn't rat him out, then again, fear did that job of keeping them in line just fine. Johnny was quiet and he did what he was told without questioning his boss. He was like the Joker's original permanent set of men. He always kept two sets of men, one that was his constant team and the other that was a team of random, less-intelligent men that he assembled for a 'one-time-use' only. These were the men that he would use to rob banks or use in blowing Gotham to hell; they were expendable.

The Joker nodded at Johnny, who was sitting at the table, drinking a beer and playing solitaire, a cheap cigarette still burning in the ashtray set before him. Johnny nodded back and the Joker made his way to the fridge to grab a glass of milk.

The Joker really was rather odd; his men drank booze and he drank milk, it was almost a joke. He turned back to Johnny-boy while leaning against the counter and drinking his milk. It was such an odd sight that Johnny would have laughed had he not known him better. Johnny briefly looked at his 'boss', calling him that was such a bizarre thing in itself that Johnny had to inwardly smile, before getting up and exiting the room. He could tell when the Joker needed his space, and when he did, you gave it to him.

The Joker finished his milk and tossed the glass into the sink. Hearing the glass make contact with the steely surface of the sink before shattering into pieces, the Joker just cocked his head to the side and peered at it like a dog trying to figure something out. He then shrugged and, before heading out into the hallway, looked at the solitaire game. He made a few more moves before smiling to himself. '_Too bad, Johnny boy woulda won,' he thought_.

He exited to the hallway and passed up the 'drunk men watch sleazy women's fake-ass wrestling milk-match '08'. He laughed at the ridiculous title his mind had come up with for it. He was about to head up the stairs, but remembering something, he paused and back-tracked a couple of steps to the living room. He 'coughed' loudly to get his men's attention before talking. These men were nothing like his old ones. They were more like the expendable ones. He would have to exchange and upgrade for new ones soon.

"_Sooooo_. . ." he said to his men expectantly.

No one wanted to ask, but somebody had to. One of his men finally broke the silence.

"Uhh, sooo what, boss?" he said idiotically.

The Joker grunted and jerked his body impatiently. He was almost in disbelief that his men were actually this clueless.

"_Ahhhh_, _Jo-leee-een!"_ he said exasperated. His men instantly perked up. John was standing in the corner with his beer in hand; he chuckled lightly at the other men before taking a swig of his beer and exiting the room out of the side entrance. Being in the Joker's presence long enough, he knew what a short temper he had and wasn't going to stay around long enough to watch it in action.

Again, nobody wanted to be the first to speak. The Joker could tell it wasn't going to be good. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling before speaking. "Come on, come on, get on with it!" he demanded impatiently.

Finally, one of his men spoke up, "Well. . . uh. . . boss. . .she's uhhh. . . she's." The Joker was moving his arms in a gesture telling his man to hurry up. "Well. . . it's not bad, boss. . . she just. . . well-" He was cut off when the Joker let out an exasperated sigh before shooting the man square in the chest. It was almost comedic, the way that he took the man's life.

"Sooo, _anybody else_ want to waste _my _time?" he said sinisterly. He wasn't really asking.

Immediately there was a change in the room's atmosphere and now all of his men were eagerly talking at once. He couldn't really distinguish what was being said. He held up his gun and made only one single motion over the room. The men fell silent at the waving of his gun.

"_Nowww_. . . I can't _hear_ you if you're _all_ speaking at _once_," his words slithered out of his mouth like a snake. One man, who was sitting on the floor near where good-ol _Johnny-boy_ was previously standing, finally spoke up.

"She. . . uh. . ." he was stumbling like the first man. The Joker simply aimed his gun at the man's head; he immediately started talking faster. "She wasn't home. . . I mean, that is, she left. She must have left between shifts," he knew that she was supposed to be watched at all times and quickly had to explain himself before he too was killed. "She was being watched, but she somehow managed to. . .get out. At first, we just thought that she was going to be staying home-" The man was cut off by the Joker.

"She _wouldn't_ stay _home_; this isn't her _day_ to stay _home_," he angrily explained to the man. In his aggravation, he was admitting more to his men than he'd have liked to. The fact that he _knew_ that this wasn't her day to stay home showed that he was giving her more attention than he should have-than she deserved, which would probably translate to some sort of weakness in his men's eyes. They'd be lucky if he didn't just kill them all on the spot. He was contemplating it, when the man started speaking up again.

"Well, that's. . . well, we thought that maybe she was sick or something, so we waited. But, then, around seven p.m., or so, we noticed that she didn't go to the window to feed the plant. She does that every day, never past five. So when it was seven, we knew that something was up. So, I decided that I would go up to her apartment." The Joker looked up at this, his hostile eyes glaring with an impatient anger. "I was going to pretend that I was a repair man who had the wrong apartment."

"Yeah, a repairman with no tools or uniform," the Joker sneered sarcastically.

The man shrugged off the Joker's comment, partly because he was too idiotic to understand what he'd meant. He continued, "So, I went up to her apartment and knocked on the door. When no one answered, I picked the lock and went in. There was nobody there."

"That it?" the Joker asked cooly.

"Pretty much. I mean-" the man was cut off by the Joker's gun. Nobody, _nobody_ went anywhere _near_ Jolene. He was dead before he slumped over on the floor.

"Well, now that that's done," the Joker made a motion for two of his men to get the bodies and bury them in the back. At this rate, he was going to need a bigger back yard. "Now, listen to me, _especially_ good, or you'll end up like your little friends here," he motioned towards the dead bodies that were about to be carried into the night. "You watch her. Your eyes so much as leave her for only a matter of seconds. . . You so much as break to take a piss, well. . ._boom_ for you, and they won't even be able to recognize you by your dentals," he smiled at that. "I want tighter shifts, two men a shift. One at street level, one on the roof. That is, _when_ she returns! No, actually, I want her found, now. Find her, now! Go." None of his men made a move, save for the ones moving the bodies. "Goooo!" With this they began moving in all directions, _any _direction.

The Joker just shook his head. All he wanted to do was to come home for one of his two nightly breaks, get his update, and go finish out the night with this evening's tasks. Now he was agitated and down two of his men because of it. And it was all because of _her_. He needed to get a move on if he was going to remain some-what one schedule.

It was nice spending his time thinking about his Jolene, but he had other things to do. He had yet to fulfill all the tasks on his list for that evening. He had covered kidnapping a, not-entirely random, Gotham citizen. In fact, the person he had kidnapped just happened to be a GCPD police officer. He had asked the man a few random questions, mainly basic things about why would he want to be a police officer for a society that could not be saved. He also asked the man if he thought that he'd still have a job with the Batman now. The man's reaction to this was exactly what the Joker wanted, _exactly_. The officer thought about it and started rambling negative things about the Bat.

The Joker had the entire thing filmed, right up to the man's violent death. The Joker finished by holding the camera in front of his face and speaking to it.

"Is _this_ what you wanted? _Hmmmmm_? For the _Bat freak_ to do _everything _for you?" He paused. "Dear Gotham, I'm done with the Bat, _aren't you_? Let me know when you want to take things," he was about to use one of his favorite lines, "_a little more seriously_. I'm giving you a chance to end this madness." He let a small chuckle reverberate from his chapped lips. "I mean, weren't things _sooo muuuch better_ before the Bat appointed himself _king_ of your little city, _hmmmm_? I'll give you one week, _one_, to show me some. . . '_Public display of affection',"_ he used air quotes. The citizens would understand what he meant; he wanted something done that would be affectionate in _his_ eyes, which meant he wanted something blown up or some other display of disgusting human nature, maybe a human body being displayed in broad daylight. "I'll give you a week for you _answeeer_! After that, I'll just have to _take_ what's mine. And, _trust me_, you won't like it, if I have to take it from you! You practically _gave_ the city to _him_, why not try giving it to someone that could do you some _good_," his voice was horridly dark, ringing with menace. He cackled for effect and was about to turn the camera off when he remembered to add something. "Oh, and, same rules as usual; each day you take, up to the seven that I'm graciously giving you, someone dies. It's not a threat, I'm simply . . . impatient and I enjoy killing and _torture_-so I'd hurry up, because the person I choose to kill, well, it might just be-_you_!" With that he began cracking up. He turned off the camera and explained to his men where to send the tapes, to every major news channel as usual, and where to dump the body, directly outside of the Gotham City Police Department main division headquarters. With that, he returned home and got the unpleasant little surprise of Jolene's current whereabouts.

The next few things on his list were simple. The tasks included a rather odd shopping list. On the list were a pair of new suspenders and a few new bags of unders, some fertilizer, diesel fuel, wiring, a small alarm clock, three gallons of whole milk, a plant stand, make-up, a couch, a toilet, and a concrete truck. He needed new suspenders because he snapped one at some point; the milk was for his unquenchable thirst, several of the items were for making amateur pipe bombs. The Joker had decided that he would throw the cops off track in using such unprofessional techniques so he used pipe bombs. Usually, the Joker was proud of his work and wanted everyone to feel fear, but when he was blowing something up solely for the purpose of blowing it up, he rather enjoyed taking the cops off their track and confusing them by displaying acts that weren't so true to his nature. It made them wonder if it was really him or another arsonist; as if anyone else would _dare_ to touch _his_ city.

He could have easily had his men run his errands for him, but, in his recently acquired aggravation, he decided to go out and do it himself. Besides, the last time he had one of his men get him underwear, the man came back with boxers that had little hearts and cats on them. His man thought it was hilarious and that the Joker would get the joke and laugh with him. And he did, right up until he shot the man. If the guy really wanted him to appreciate the joke, he'd have bought boxers with hearts and _dogs_, he liked dogs. Cats. . . Cats were useless to him. His list was long and would eat up some time, as well as provide an outlet for his mind to get off of Jolene for a little while.

* * *

It had been three days. . . _Three days_, since the Joker learned of Jolene's little departure, and he was _livid_. He was _absolutely_ _infuriated_. It would have helped if he had more to do, but this was the calm before the storm. This was a week dedicated to planning and preparing for next week. He knew that the people would fail him again; three days had already passed, and there had yet to be a single murder or act of terror. He knew that nobody could compare to the sheer havoc that he reaped on the city, but he wanted to see at least a little conflict. There were only four days left; he knew that it wouldn't happen. Chaos was a skill that was learned. '_Fuck skill_,' he thought. '_It's a fucking gift!_'

Very few people were so endowed as he with the _gift_ of consuming people with hatred, mind manipulation, killing hope, and completely obliterating cities. However, at the moment, he was completely consumed himself, by an annoying, little _creature_ that went by the name Jolene.

She still hadn't returned, and there was no sign that she was going to any time soon. Her apartment was dead; even her phone refused to ring. The Joker had his men bug her phone line the day after she left. He had too much time on his hands. The little 'home videos' he had to film daily took about an hour, an hour and a half at most , including the kidnapping, the set-up, the filming itself, and the killing itself. He usually had an idea of what he was going to say in the little speeches he gave during the videos, but, for the most part, they were made up on the spot.

This meant that he had another twenty-two to twenty three hours to think about her. He didn't need to do much preparing for the next week; he'd already been working out the way things were going to go during his time at the lovely little resort called Arkham.

Since she'd left, she'd been all he could think of. He knew that it wasn't because he cared for her, and the thought of caring _about_ her was practically a joke. He realized that he was obsessing over her partly out of sheer boredom and partly because he didn't know where she was. If he knew where she was, he wouldn't think about her. She'd just be another thing, another little, minuscule piece of his massive daily routine. At least he liked to think that way. He was beyond infuriated, past miffed, and completely angry. Essentially, he was really, _really_ pissed off.

One of his men rapped on the door a few times before entering. The Joker just launched a knife at him, hitting the man square in the heart, without taking so much as a look in his direction. The Joker grabbed his coat off of the back of a chair and made his way downstairs, stepping over the man's body. He didn't have to look to know it wasn't Johnny, not that it would have mattered much, but he knew that Johnny was smarter than the rest and would have known not to disturb him.

As he passed by the living room, he calmly, but firmly, spoke to his men, who were watching the same shit that they always put on the tube. "There is a bit of a mess upstairs that needs tending to," he said as he started to walk towards the front door. Two of his men moved past him and went upstairs. He was heading towards the door when he delightfully heard one of his men yell, "Holy shit!! Mike!! He fuckin' killed Mike, man!" The other guy didn't say anything, he just started moving the body; it must have been Johnny–Boy.

The Joker was about to turn the handle when he remembered something. He turned around and stood in the living room doorway before talking briefly.

"Oh, and if I ever. . ._ever_ see you guys watching that shit. . . I'll cheerfully," he paused and smiled a genuine smile, "gouge your fucking eyes out. The crap you watch is utter trash. Watch something more. . . _educational_!" He smiled and headed out.

He was walking. He wasn't sure where, but he was walking.He was thinking about her and how he was having her watched, well, at least how he _was_ having her watched, before she left anyhow.

He wasn't expecting for it to get that far. In fact, he fully intended on lightly studying her for a few days, just long enough for him to use against her when he kidnapped and then tortured her through manipulation. Manipulation was one of his favorite games; it was his absolute favorite manner of torture. It was only after a person was completely broken on the inside that he would mutilate their outside to match their poor, abused minds; it was only after they'd been broken internally that he was able to gain the full benefit of his game. The fact that they were so easily dilapidated, so easily violated was another reason the Joker had such an intense lack of respect towards humanity. They were always underestimating the power of the human mind and just how fragile it truly was. All it would take is a few traumatizing events occurring in rapid recession to change someone forever, it did for him anyway. . .

At least he thought it did.

The truth of the matter was that he couldn't really remember that much about his past. He could only see fragmented pieces. It was much like the average person thinking back on life, on childhood, and knowing that they had developed in some way over the past few years, when in reality they hadn't developed at all. He could remember things that happened more recently better than things from the past. That was one of the main problems in his mind; he could be ten, twenty steps ahead of everyone around him, everyone in society, with the exception of his latest little Jolene, but he could only _remember _in fragments. He envisioned the way things were going to turn out in snapshots when he was thinking ahead, but when he was trying to remember things, it was like the snapshots were blurred, or in black and white, without shades of gray. But unlike others, it was never the important events that stuck out in his mind, it was always the minuscule details that he remembered. He was always so attentive to detail that he wasn't really surprised that he could only remember things happening blow by blow, or _blow up _rather.

He laughed at the way his own mind worked. God his jokes _really were_ awful. He thought back to Jolene.

He still wasn't quite sure what he thought of her. It wasn't that she was special or deserving of his time like his _precious _Batman. Nor was it the fact that she was so intelligent a conversationalist. The reason that he so forcefully wanted to learn more about her, so intrusively having her life observed for him, was something that was, not beyond him, but simply something he was not ready to strike at.

Nothing was ever out of reach for him or any _other_ member of society for that matter; it was whether someone was inclined to reach for what they wanted or not, whether they were willing to go for what they desired. The Joker knew this and he knew that he would get her in his possession, he _would_ reach, and when he did he would squeeze, _hard_- like a boa constrictor to a mouse, he would slowly _grind _her, _squeezing _the very life-giving air from her dying lungs. . . but not just yet.

There were several things that initially drew him to her. One such intriguing thing, he'd determined, was the fact that she was indeed an oxymoron. Even though she could have it all, she didn't, not because she wouldn't apply herself, but because she actually didn't _want_ to. She didn't want it all. She was just like him and just like the Batman. Batman could have had fame, fortune, recognition for his actions, but he didn't, and that was one reason the Joker respected him, in some weird way, and even _related_ to him. The Joker knew that he too could have used his genius for good to benefit society, instead of evil, but he chose the latter of the two instead, mainly just because it was more fun that way.

She, on the other hand, questioned a society that lacked moral, yet she seemed to have no moral code of her own, _seemed_ not to. However, he knew people like her. He _was_ people like her, and he knew that people like him, had a reason for everything, _everything_. Yet, here he was, walking down a street, _her_ street, wrapped in his coat and shrouded in the darkness that consumed the night, confused as all hell about her.

He started laughing, finally understanding what she had meant when she couldn't determine whether or not she was more or less than a human. He laughed harder. Even _she_ didn't know what to think of her _own_ self. He was in a fit by now. It was just too funny; a woman who had something to say about everything, something intelligent at that, and here she didn't even know what to say about the one thing that she should know most about: herself.

He completely broke off from the outside world, laughing until he was nautilus and continuing still. He would be doubled over and damn near heaving by the time he was over it. He was only completely satisfied when it seemed he was about to start hyperventilating. His laughter usually died after it had seemingly taken the life, the very soul out of everything else around. It was as if even the buildings and winding streets shook in fear, as if Satan, himself, had just sprang forth and devoured the world in disease, consuming it in a flood of viscous rot.

He stopped in front what he remembered to be her apartment. Except for to show his men the exact location of her apartment he had not been there himself since that night three weeks ago.

He thought on her for a few more moments. Knowing as much as he did about her, the Joker realized that not a damn one of these things were what was truly drawing him to learn more about her. Besides her twisted intelligence, the one thing that kept him from grabbing and squeezing, the thing that interested him more was the fact that she was already broken.

Half of the fun of ruining a person was breaking them. Once someone was broken, he had little use for them. It didn't matter to him the extent to which a person was broken, the fact was that, if a person was broken, they were useless to him. . .to society, and, therefore, should be exterminated promptly, which he also enjoyed. The broken were difficult to mold because they were so shapeless and yet, it was this same exact factor that made them easily pliable. It was no challenge either way, which meant that it was simply too boring, too mundane for his liking.

But there was something about _her_. The reason that she was an oxymoron was the reason he assumed he was so interested in her.

He smiled remembering what she had told him about assuming. '_Never assume._' This was true and yet not. He always prepared for everything; assuming that whatever could happen, would. This was another action of his that attributed to his being twenty steps ahead of everyone.

His thoughts returned to why she was deserving, _if_ she was deserving of his time. In actuality, he was making excuses for his growing obsession. She was also an oxymoron in that she was broken, and yet, had more spirit in her than almost anyone the joker had met. She was quite a lot like his Batsy. Batsy happened to share a lot of her little attributes, which was another reason that the joker gave for his interest in her. The Joker gave her one last thought.He was standing directly outside of her building, in front of the cracked glass door. He exhaled a breath, blinked a few times, licked his lips, extended his hand. . .

And pushed.

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**Qick A/N: The house, I had somewhat envision in the same decrepit way that the house in FightClub (the movie) is...you know, really broken down and whatnot!**

**JAc: Thank you again sooooo much for your loving reviews! I really and truly do appreciate it! I'll try to update A LOT sooner next time. Keep reviewing, I'll keep writing it for you!- Thank you INFINATELY for your support, it means worlds...AND universes! :D**


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